


He will wait.

by MagicFunhouseProd



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Child Neglect, Depression, Grief, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Shipping If You Squint, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 23:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10819080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicFunhouseProd/pseuds/MagicFunhouseProd
Summary: Blake waits for many, many things. He remembers many, many things. And sometimes. Sometimes he waits and he forgets.





	He will wait.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first post on here. (｡╯3╰｡) Please be patient.

He waits. 

He waits for Lynn to come back. She’ll be back soon, he’s sure of it. She’s coming. She’s coming. Who’s coming? He’s coming. He’s coming. Haunting the halls with that song, the echoing of his footsteps. He sounds so gentle now, so kind, he’s coming. 

He waits for Lynn to come back. She’ll come back. Those late nights working, stumbling through the doors with her shoes in hand, bag slung over her shoulder. Her hair’s a mess and her makeup is smudged with the day’s effects. She’s still beautiful, though. Blake would smile and offer her love and care, a warm bed and a warmer meal. She’d smile and he’d smile and it’d be nice. He waits for Lynn to finish up her computer work and come to bed. 

He waits. 

He waits for Jessica to stop crying. She cries so loudly sometimes. She screams, she screeches, she hiccups, she cries. And Blake just sits there, and stares at her. He stares and he waits. He doesn’t dare touch her or get too close, he’ll hurt her if he touches her. His hands are bloody and grimy and filthy, she’s too precious and clean to stain her skin so early. Blake doesn’t want to bleed on her angel. His angel. 

He waits for Lynn to come back. Lynn will breastfeed her, make her better, love her like a mother could. Lynn will know what to do. 

He’ll watch her for what seems like days, let her cry as long as she wants, as long as she can. He waits for her to come back, his Jessica. This is a fake Jessica. He can’t love this fake one, only the real one. He’d love her if she came back, when she comes back. He waits for real Jessica to come back. He waits for real Jessica to walk out the classroom and down the hall so they can go home. He waits for the snow to stop, at least slow down, so they can walk home. He wants to go home. 

He waits for Lynn so they can walk home, hand in hand, limping and crawling if they must but at least they’re hand in hand. 

Blake waits for fake Jessica to stop crying, and then he waits for her to cry again to show signs of her fake life. Fake fake fake. No one could love a fake. No one could love a fake Jessica, because no one loved real Jessica anyway. He wants her back, he needs her back, he wants his real Jessica. They let her cry, they let her scream, they let her die. So why shouldn’t he? Why should this Jessica be allowed to live? This fake, fake, ugly, disgusting Jessica? She took his Lynn, she was jealous, she took his Lynn away and now she’ll never come home. 

He waits for Lynn to come home. When was her shift over again? Did they find her body yet?

Blake waits for those moments to go away. He loves Jessica, his beautiful baby girl. His angel. His redemption. Pick her up, cradle her, feed her, love her. He loves her in his arms, she fits like a missing puzzle piece. He smiles and she smiles, she loves her daddy. Blake will keep her safe, be the father she deserved and give her the life she deserves. He’ll send her through college, a good college, a great college. She’ll grow up proud and strong and beautiful. She’ll grow up Jessica. She’ll be a mother. She’ll be a friend to all, a mentor, she’ll be in charge one day. 

Blake will be an old man by then, maybe even dead. He’ll be rotting as she shines. He’ll be ten feet under as she’s ten stories up in her bright and shiny and clean office. She’ll learn to dig in her heels and fingers in the dirt, mud under her nails and blood on her knuckles. She’ll grin with a mouthful of red, and she’ll turn the other cheek for more. And he will be proud of her. She’ll fight her way up to the top, fights with teeth and nails barred. And he will be proud of her.

Blake wonders when Lynn will come home. 

Sometimes he remembers. 

He remembers people chasing him, he remembers all the screaming and crying and bloodshed. His own hands are bloody, forever stained red. His own, other’s, Lynn’s, Jessica’s. Blood stained his flesh red, decorated over blue and black and yellow bruises. It’s on his face, on his hands, in his hair, in his flesh. He can’t get the smell out of his nose, the taste from his mouth. He smells like a graveyard; plants, death, and dirt. He tastes it too. Nothing tastes good anymore. 

He remembers being on his knees, crying and screaming and begging for any God that listened to give her back. He remembers corpses on the floor, on the walls, on the ceilings, in windows, corpses everywhere. Pieces scattered and blood splattered, like the remains of gory fireworks. Blake remembers every detail, every scream, every cut and bruise. 

He remembers Lynn going limp and cold, colder than the snow, colder than any living person should be. Did she actually walk or did he carry her? Did she actually give birth or was that fake too? 

He remembers everything.

And sometimes, 

he remembers 

nothing. 

Voices whisper awful things to him. Tell him terrible secrets he doesn’t want to hear. Storms in his head, ringing in his ears, screaming and crying. Sometimes it’s his own. It’s mainly his own. He doesn’t realize when he screams, Jessica screams. They cry together, they starve together, they hurt together. It’s just like how Jessica would have wanted. 

His feet leave the floor sometimes, he floats up and up and up until he’s lost in the dark corners of complete up-ness. And when he falls, he crashes. He crashes with flailing, grasping limbs and falls hard enough to bruise. Once he fell off the roof. He broke his arm in two places. It took three days for him to get to the hospital, and forgot Jessica at home for those days. She was barely alive by the time a neighbour found her. He didn’t even realize she wasn’t in the apartment when he came stumbling back in with a fresh cast. 

~~~

The blonde man came to yell at him, the neighbour with a fake leg, yeah that one. Red faced and holding a doll, a pretty little glass doll. He yelled and ranted and raved, he was a father, Blake remembers. Two boys come once a month, or was it once a week? Were they even boys? Blondie calls him a pothead, says he’ll call the police is she goes another full night of crying. She really cries that much? Blake didn’t notice. Blake blacks out, how many of those pain killers did he take today? Was he even hurting? Normally Lynn reminds him of his medication. Why did he need pain killers? 

He woke up on the couch, with a blanket over him. He groaned and reached up, rubbing his head. It hurt, his head was throbbing and his throat was raw. Blake sat up slowly, blinking rapidly. “My head…” 

His head felt full of spiderwebs, his eyesight was blurry. Did Blondie drug him? What did he to him? He touched him, cut him, took from him, killed him. Blake was dead and Blondie killed him. 

“Are you awake? Close your eyes and sleep a little longer. You need it.” 

Blake shot up so fast that his head spun, and he fell off the couch with a thump and a gasp. Blankets tangled around his legs and made him claustrophobic, he started to panic. Hands grabbed at his shoulders and lifted him upwards with grunt, to his bumbling feet and wobbly legs. 

Blake nearly screamed. But was cut short with a sharp stinging slap. 

“She’s sleeping…!” Blondie hissed, eyes turned to a door that Blake didn’t even know he had. “You need to be quiet, 402.” 

“Who’s that? Who is sleeping? Who are you?” Blake frowned, stepping backwards. “402?” 

“I said she’s sleeping!” Blondie scowled, looking ready to slap him again. Blake flinched back, holding his cheeks, raising a brow. He squinted for a moment before glancing around, plucking up his glasses from the coffee table he forgot he had. “You need to hush before she--” 

A shrill cry burst from the bedroom and Blondie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“... Before she wakes up…” He shoved aside Blake before shuffling off to the bedroom. Blake stared at the other for a moment before hesitantly following suite, peeking into the room after a few moments. The crying was slowly dying down to whimpers, then to silence, and Blondie had his back to him. 

 

“Where’s my baby…?” Blake stated without realizing it was his own voice, brows knit together tightly. Blondie turned to him, frowning as he cradled that doll in his arms. Blondie was shorter than he remembered. A lot shorter. “Where’s my baby?” 

“What’s her name, 402?” 

“Why do you keep calling me that? Where’s my baby?” 

“She’s right here, you fool. What’s her name? I asked you a question.” Blondie seemed upset, taking a step back. He was going to steal his baby. This man was going to take his baby girl. His angel. His. His Jessica. Blake clenched his fists tight enough for his knuckles to flush white, arms trembling. 

And  
he  
swung. 

Blondie gasped and threw himself back, holding Jessica tight to his chest as he screeched out. “What are you doing?! You’re going to hit her!!” 

“Who are you?” Blake asked, suddenly soft, fearful. “Why are you taking her? Please don’t take my baby. Please don’t take her again. I need her. I need my Jessica. She’s my baby. Please don’t take my baby.” 

“I’m not taking your baby…! Jesus christ, man! I’m here to help you!” The short man yelled, making Jessica burst out into fresh tears again. He winced and looked down, loosening her hold a bit, rocking her gently. “I’ve been your neighbour since you moved in, and I am tired of the nights of screaming and crying! From both of you! I am missing sleep, and so do my boys when they stay!” Blake then noticed the deep, dark bags under his tired, green eyes. “Now sit down.” 

~~~

Blondie’s name was Waylon, apparently. He, as spoken previously, was his next door neighbour. Only one door down. He had apparently heard every melt down, every scream, every bitter sob, everything since Blake moved in. 

Blake wasn’t sure how he felt about this. 

Waylon explained this and more as they sipped coffee at the dining room table, coffee that Waylon made. In clean mugs that Waylon washed. Blake forgot about these mugs, they’ve been sitting in the dirty sink water for so long, who wouldn’t forget that? 

Blake waits and listens as Waylon explains himself, explains Blake to Blake, explains why Jessica cries so often, explains why it all happens and why it happens. Waylon gives him a notepad with people and numbers on it, says they’ll help. Says he goes to them. Says they help him. 

He gives him a smile. 

It’s so sweet. It’s so kind. It’s a promise of something better and Blake believes it. 

“They’ll give you medicine, say funny things, do lots of tests on you. It’s just to see how you are, and see how it’ll make you better.” He explained it simply, almost childishly, and Blake understood. 

Blake will remember him.


End file.
